Gibraltar Earth

by Michael McCollum

  Mark froze as a figure in a vacuum suit suddenly rose into view on his right. The spacer hovered in the black, gazing down intently as he scanned the station hull. He drifted across the black sky and disappeared once more below the too near horizon. Mark decided the time had come to sacrifice stealth for speed. He floated down into the little valley of pipes he had been following and began to pull toward the starship. Again, he found his way blocked, this time by a large antenna cluster. To one side was bare hull on which, if he tried to cross it, he would be silhouetted for all to see. On the other side was a viewport with a dim light emanating from it.

  He decided to risk the dim glow in order to keep to a broken surface. He pulled himself forward, skirting the port. There was insufficient room to pass around it. He carefully pulled himself to the edge and glanced down into the station interior. It was then that several things happened all at once.

  The first was that the interior lights flashed bright. For an instant, Mark thought he might have triggered some kind of sensor. Then, before he could react, a hatch opened, and a woman floated through. She was especially captivating in that she was nude. Her eyes rose to lock with his (though he knew she could not see anything but a helmet) and the back of her hand went to her mouth. The scream was silent, but obvious.

  Under normal circumstances, a beautiful naked woman glimpsed through an open viewport in space would have held Mark’s full attention for as long as she allowed it. However, there was something else in the compartment, a figure that turned to face him in response to the woman’s scream. Mark suddenly found himself staring into the yellow eyes of something that looked very like a monkey.

  #

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nadine Halstrom’s temper was one of her most carefully guarded secrets. Her public persona was that of an unflappable professional politician, someone who could mediate a dispute between God and Satan without betraying a hint of partiality toward either side. Many a pundit had commented on the ice water that must flow in the World Coordinator’s veins. Most of the time, they were correct in their perception. However, those who worked closely with her occasionally saw another side of her personality. When she was angry, the Coordinator could swear like a spacer. This happened sufficiently often that she had borne the sobriquet “Iron Maiden” for more than three decades.

  As she stared at the features of Anton Bartok, director of the Stellar Survey, Nadine was not angry – she had passed through angry twenty minutes earlier on her way to furious.

  “How did it happen, Anton?”

  Bartok flinched visibly at his desk half-a-world away. He had known his report would bring a reaction. He just had not expected it this quickly.

  “My fault, Coordinator. My people should have followed up with Rykand to make sure he was taking the news of his sister’s death better than he obviously was. In addition, no one considered the fact that his credit balance gives him freedom of action not available to mere mortals. After all, it isn’t every citizen who can afford to whistle himself up a yacht to deliver him to orbit.”

  “Are you sure all we are dealing with here is a spoiled rich brat? This story that he was merely trying to find out about his sister’s death seems weak considering that we caught him actually staring at our guest through a viewport.”

  “Dieter Pavel interrogated him rigorously. He is sticking to the story that he doesn’t believe his sister was killed by space debris and that he was trying to get to Magellan in order to confront Captain Landon.”

  “He would hardly claim otherwise if he is a professional. How did he happen to make a beeline for that particular viewport?”

  “He claims it was coincidence.”

  Nadine’s response was a rude sound that was especially incongruous when coming from the World Coordinator. “I don’t believe in coincidences. I say there has been a leak.”

  “If so, why haven’t there been any stories in the media?”

  “Because they are afraid to broadcast anything so outlandish without proof,” she responded acidly.

  “We would have gotten an indication of something if they were snooping around.”

  “How do you know we haven’t had hints? Do your underlings rush to report bad news? What did your people in orbit tell Mr. Rykand after they took him into custody?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure. I gave Pavel specific instructions on that point as soon as he reported the incident to me.”

  “Have you considered what we are going to do with Mr. Rykand?”

  “We’ll charge him with damaging public property, reckless endangerment, failure to heed warnings, and anything else we can hang on him.”

  “Oh? And when is his court date?”

  “Court date?”

  “You have arrested him and are about to charge him. You don’t think we can just order him thrown into the castle dungeon, do you? We will have to arraign him in open court. If you will give me the date, I will arrange to be there. It ought to be interesting to watch his defense lawyer work.”

  “Uh, I see your point,” Bartok said. The director’s expression was that of one who has just bitten into a rotten lemon. “But we can’t let him go. He has seen too much.”

  “What are you suggesting, Anton, that we toss him out an airlock?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “I didn’t think so. So what are you going to do with him?”

  Bartok considered for a moment, and then grimaced. “I don’t know.”

  “Perhaps you should offer him a job.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know, a function that you perform for which someone pays you.”

  “But what could he do?”

  “That is your problem, Mr. Director. All I know is that if we are to keep him from talking, we will have to keep him aboard PoleStar. To do that, he has to stay of his own free will. Ergo, we need to entice him.”

  “But the man’s a dilettante!”

  “Perhaps he will welcome a little honest work for a change. Look, Anton, you have all the pieces to the puzzle. He wants to know what happened to his sister, doesn’t he? Tell him! Make sure he understands that we are working to identify the culprits. He might even volunteer.”

  “I’ll issue orders at once.”

  “Good. Now then, let us consider the more far-ranging consequences of this little drama. Just for the sake of argument, let us assume that Rykand is telling the truth and he stumbled across our little secret by accident. If he can do it then someone else can, too. Frankly, when I agreed to this secrecy, I didn’t expect it to last as long as it has.”

  “But we are not yet in a position to go public.”

  “Agreed. I suggest we take steps to get ready.”

  “What steps, Coordinator?”

  “Firstly, we get Magellan away just as fast as we can. A ship that has disappeared into superlight is a ship that cannot be recalled. When will Captain Landon be ready to space?”

  “By the end of the week.”

  “Very well. Tell him that I want his sorry ass gone by Saturday at the latest. When Rykand does not show up in his usual haunts, his friends are going to start to talk. They are the social strata where the reporters are likely to pick up the story. In addition, even if they do not gain the scent from Rykand’s friends, having Magellan at PoleStar is too damned conspicuous.

  “The second thing I want you to do, Anton, is to set up a conference here on Earth where the scientists can go over everything we’ve learned. I want one of those long-winded free-for-alls where they try to dig each others’ hearts out with their pocket computers. Let them fight as long as necessary, but I want a consensus on whether our guest is telling us the truth. We can’t afford to have a dozen ‘expert’ opinions in opposition when the news breaks.”

  “A conference will be noticed by the press.”

  “Not if you hold it in some out-of-the-way place. Find a resort in the hinterlands we can take over for a coupl
e of weeks. I want that conference convened within the month. Is that clear, Director Bartok?”

  “Perfectly clear, Coordinator Halstrom. I will have my staff get to work on it immediately.”

  #

  The cell in which they had thrown him seemed to have once been used as a dormitory room. Normally in space, things retain the luster of newness forever. However, PoleStar had been continuously inhabited since its days as a power station, and the presence of atmosphere allows the growth of organisms. The smell in the cell was that of mildew and old corruption.

  The events that had followed his arrest had been nearly as exciting as those preceding it. He had been dragged bodily away from the viewport where he had seen the ... thing, and towed to a nearby airlock. They had delivered him to a suiting cubicle where he had stripped off his suit under the watchful gaze of several hard-eyed guards. Then he had been towed once more to a bare cubicle where he had to wait for more than an hour before they noticed him again. When someone had finally checked on him, it turned out to be a red-faced functionary who screamed in his face for ten minutes before ordering him taken to a holding cell.

  Mark had lain awake for hours after strapping himself into a sleeping net, unable to turn his racing mind off. Dozens of times his brain insisted on reliving the long flight in from Gossamer Gnat, the near miss of the reflector, the chase across PoleStar’s darkened hull, and always, the yellow eyes that had stared intelligently into his own as he had crouched over that well of light. Suddenly his irritation at the survey for not telling him about his sister seemed petty. Something much bigger was going on.

  He had eventually drifted off to sleep and slept more than six hours, waking in late morning, according to the wall chronometer. The lack of a day/night cycle in space was complicated by the fact that all orbital installations operate on Greenwich Mean Time, while Mark’s body rhythms were still halfway between California and Europe — and in the wrong direction!

  His stomach was just beginning to growl when he heard scrabbling sounds outside the hatchway. A moment later, the hatch opened and a bald man floated in with a covered food packet tucked under one arm.

  “Who are you?” Mark asked.

  “Hancock Mueller, station manager. I brought your lunch.”

  “I am honored that the manager of this station would deliver it to me.”

  “Everyone else is busy. Besides, I wanted to see the man who created all the commotion last night. I must say, you have guts to do what you did. I’ve twenty years in vacsuits and I would not have pulled that stunt of yours.”

  “It seemed a good idea at the time. After leaving the ship, I wasn’t too sure.”

  The manager clipped the food packet to a small table with a sitting rack in front of it. He swam to where Mark perched and stuck his face directly into Mark’s. Suddenly, his manner was as cold as Pluto. “I have another reason for seeing you. If you had hit my mirror, I would have made it a point to gather up every tiny piece of you we could find and piss on the entire collection. Goddamn it, don’t you know what that mirror cost?”

  “I didn’t plan to cut it as close as I did.”

  “A hundred kilometers is too damned close. Hell, the men chasing you almost ripped the film with their exhausts. I understand you have a lot of credit with the bank.”

  Mark shrugged. “I am comfortable.”

  “Well if you had damaged my mirror, I would have made sure you ended up destitute and then some!”

  “Look, I’m sorry. If they would let me book passage on a regular ship, I would have done so. All I really wanted was to talk to Captain Landon aboard Magellan.”

  Mueller’s manner returned to affable as quickly as it had changed. “Then you are in luck. Eat up, you have an appointment with the captain in forty minutes.”

  #

  Mark had expected the interview to take place aboard PoleStar, but when the time came, two spacers arrived to escort him to a passenger lock and into a small interorbit ferry. A few minutes later, they docked with the starship and Mark found himself following one of the spacers to the captain’s cabin.

  Mark had never been aboard a starship of the survey, but had heard Jani talk about them. The captain’s cabin was a study in luxury, with microgravity furniture clamped to the deck and bulkheads. Soft lights lit the overhead and the whole cabin was surfaced with sound absorbing carpet. The place smelled good, too.

  “Sit down, Rykand,” Landon said without offering a greeting.

  “Thank you, Captain,” Mark replied, ignoring the implied insult.

  He pulled himself to the frame in front of Landon’s desk and strapped himself in.

  “I understand you wanted to see me.”

  “Yes, sir. I wanted to find out how Jani died.”

  “You were told that on Earth.”

  “I didn’t believe it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Maybe I just didn’t like thinking Jani died as the result of a random accident.”

  “She didn’t.” Landon leaned back in his seat and told Mark about the encounter near New Eden. He told him everything, from the whispering chatter of the gravity wave passing through the ship, to the first reports from Scout Three, to the space battle that followed. He told him of Sar-Say’s capture and of the reason why the discovery of intelligent aliens had been judged too sensitive for public disclosure. Through it all, Mark listened without interrupting. When he finished, Dan Landon asked, “Any questions?”

  It took Mark a moment to answer. When he finally did, it was with a huge sigh. “You say my sister was the first to report sighting these aliens?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I see the recording?”

  “Are you sure you want to, considering how it ends?”

  “I am sure.”

  “All right, after we are through here, I will have my aide show it to you. We’ve something else to discuss first.”

  “What is that, Captain?”

  “How would you like to help find the aliens who killed your sister?”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “I am offering you a job that will help you get back at the beings who killed your sister. Are you interested?”

  “Why me?”

  “I won’t beat around the bush with you, Rykand. You know about Sar-Say, which means that we cannot let you go. Since you are trapped here, why not make yourself useful? My ship and I will be going back to space in a few days. Those who stay behind can use your help.”

  “But what will I do?”

  “Anything you are qualified to do. What did you take in school?”

  “I majored in computers and minored in astronomy.”

  “Well, we ought to find a use for both of those. I will assign you to Dr. Bendagar, our chief astrophysicist. He is staying here to work with Sar-Say after Magellan goes out.”

  Mark thought for long seconds, and then nodded. “Seeing that the alternative is prison, I suppose I will sign on with your project, Captain.”

  Landon’s smile was so broad that Mark almost forgot that he did not mean it. “Welcome aboard, shipmate. We’ll just get you to sign a few papers to make everything legal, then get you settled into your new quarters.”

  #

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lisa Arden sat at a table in the project mess and ate her breakfast alone. She had been up past midnight with Sar-Say, quizzing her charge on his knowledge of Broan politics, and then had dictated her impressions of the session for two more hours before finally getting to sleep. As she bit into a muffin covered with yeast butter, she pondered her knowledge of the Broan language – if indeed; it was the Broan native tongue. Because of the simplicity of its structure, she wondered if it was an artificial language – like the ancient Esperanto – designed to be spoken by a multitude of beings with different brains and vocal apparatus.

  “Hello, mind if I join you?” a disembodied voice asked, shaking her out of her reverie.

  She lifted her gaze from her plate to see a pair of ship
boots hovering just above the deck. As she scanned higher, the figure of Mark Rykand came into view. She had spent the past couple of days avoiding him and her complexion now reddened involuntarily as she remembered how her weekly shower had ended.

  “Hello. No, I don’t mind.”

  “I am Mark Rykand,” he said, holding forth a hand after he had strapped himself down across from her.

  “Lisa Arden,” she replied, shaking it.

  “Look, Miss Arden, I want to apologize for intruding on your privacy the other night. Believe me, I would have never...”

  “Never sneak a peek at a naked lady, Mr. Rykand?” she asked, her tone one of mock incredulity.

  He grinned. “Well, now that you mention it, I suppose I have taken the occasional opportunity. Still, I did not intend to cause you any embarrassment. In fact, I did not intend anything. I was trying to get to Magellan.”

  “So I’ve heard. Have you met Sar-Say?”

  Rykand nodded. “Yesterday. Dr. Bendagar let me sit in on one of the interrogation sessions.”

  “Where was I?” Lisa asked. Generally, she sat in on all interrogations to work out any misunderstandings Sar-Say might have.

  “The professor said that you were ... ‘answering some damnfool question from some addle-brained, cretin of a bureaucrat who seemed to think we have nothing better to do here than answer his piss-brain questions,’ or something to that effect.”

  Lisa laughed. “That sounds like the good professor, all right. What did you think of Sar-Say?”

  Mark hesitated as he chased a globule of scrambled eggs around with a fork before replacing the cover to his tray. Finally, he said, “I suppose I was a bit disappointed.”

  “Disappointed?”

  “He just doesn’t seem alien enough, know what I mean? I keep thinking I am looking at a monkey.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I sometimes find myself having the same reaction. I suppose it would be better if he were a big, throbbing mass of gelatin or maybe a rock with eyes. Yet, if you think about it, form follows function in evolution as in everything else. The Broa have naturally enslaved beings more or less like themselves, and since they are apparently our kind of creatures, so are most of their subservient species. That, at least, is the way the biologists explain how it is that the three species we’ve seen to date are so similar.”